


Still Perfect

by allthelovelybadones



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: (Obviously), F/M, Idk just take this, Mr. New Vegas in a synth body, Slow Dancing, but i was clearing out my drafts and i really liked this one, for my old writing i really like it, johnny guitar - Freeform, listen this is like the niche-est category ever, this was way before i knew he was just an AI ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthelovelybadones/pseuds/allthelovelybadones
Summary: The Courser had a good run. For 10 years she helped the people of New Vegas. But now she's slowed down. Constantly on the go isn't as easy anymore. Sometimes she stays for a week. And he can see how that weighs on her.





	Still Perfect

He sits back in his chair, Blue Moon playing through the radio. He doesn’t say anything, nor does his companion. She just lays upon his bed, watching as he looks through the news he has to announce next and picks out the next song. He likes it when she comes to visit, his Mrs. New Vegas. Sometimes she’ll stay a whole week before heading back out into the Mojave. 

He looks back at her. Arms folded under her head, too stubborn to fall asleep just yet. She’s close; close enough that he could reach out and touch her. It’s a nice change. She smiles slightly, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

Lately, she seems to be staying longer, staying away less. He doesn’t mind. But she does. He can tell she misses going out and helping people. Missing the days when taking out a Deathclaw nest was a day’s work. He sees how she wistfully looks at her old bag, made for more significant quantities she can’t lift anymore. How she stares into the mirror, glaring at the wrinkles she sees. How she has less energy, how her hair’s losing its color. But he sees how she looks at him. 

An immortal AI with a synth body doesn’t age. Not like an average person. Definitely not like someone who spent every day for the past decade helping people. He looks at her, sees how her dark thoughts make her doubt his love. Make her wonder if he’ll start looking to younger girls. He assures her that he wouldn’t—that she along has his heart, jokes that he never even leaves the studio, but she still worries. 

The song fades out. “Here’s an old favorite. Something slow, so grab someone you love, hold them close, and dance.” 

Johnny Guitar filters to the radio. She laughs, more an exhale of breath than anything else. He stands up, bows, and offers his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. New Vegas?” 

That earns him a laugh. A beautiful, true laugh. “You may, Mr. New Vegas.” 

She takes his hand, and he wastes no time pulling her close. Arm around her middle, he spins her around, more watching her hair flutter around her face than anything else. 

The space isn’t big; the room’s designed to minimize echoing, but there’s enough to make her nightgown flutter around her. Her hand covers her mouth, trying to muffle her laughter so as to not interrupt the music. 

“I don’t think this is dancing,” she whispers. 

“What? Faster?” 

He picks her up and she squeals in surprise. He twirls her around again, just like he has countless times. For a moment, she forgets where she is and just enjoys that weightless feeling. Laughs wildly with reckless abandon. Staring down at him, he can see how wide her smile is. 

And then it drops, and the moment is over. She remembers where she is, that she should be quiet, that she isn’t as light as she used to be. Her smile is still big, but forced and doesn’t meet her eyes. She taps his arm, a signal she wants to be put down. 

He complies, setting her down and holding her close. He wraps his arms around her, keeping her as stable as possible as he sways back and forth in something that resembles a dance. With her pressed so tightly, he can feel her heartbeat. Reassuring. 

The song continues, its steady melody different from how it once was. He remembers why it’s his favorite: the way she used to sing it, exaggerated and in different voices never failed to amuse him. Now, Peggy Lee’s voice is the only sound, save for the creaking floorboards, and it has its original, sad message again. 

He kisses the top of her head, the faint smell of her body wash filling his nose, and lets her go. She takes her promise spot on the bed again, and he takes his in his chair, smiling. 

The song fades out, and he starts talking again to whoever might be listing this late night. “Folks, a lot of people ask me “How’s Mrs. New Vegas doing?” Well, it’s been ten years now that she’s walked into my life. And you know what?” 

He kisses her hand, synthetic lips meet rough knuckles. “She’s still as perfect as the day we met.” 

This time, her smile does reach her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't find any works for Mr. New Vegas / reader on AO3, so I guess I'm the first lol. Anyway, I feel in love with the voice of the Mojave early on in my playthrough, wrote this, then actually learned more about him. The game is almost 10 years old now, which means I'm on brand posting fanfics years late.


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